


Upper Hand

by Laylah



Category: Final Fantasy XIII
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, M/M, Post-Canon, Tickling, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-21
Updated: 2011-06-21
Packaged: 2017-10-20 14:50:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/213931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hope tenses up a little bit just because he's surprised, but he doesn't squirm. He's not about to give Snow the satisfaction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Upper Hand

Hope is bent over the guts of one of their little flying skiffs, the manual open in front of him, studying the tangle of wires and circuits. He can always ask Sazh for help if he can't diagnose it himself, but he _should_ be able to figure this out. And the more things each one of them knows how to do, the stronger they'll be as a team, like Light says. Gran Pulse takes a lot of strength to get by—it's nothing like being constantly taken care of by the fal'Cie on Cocoon.

The door to the garage rattles open, and Hope recognizes Snow's heavy footsteps even before Snow says, "Hey, kiddo, dinner time. Gotta wash up and come in to eat."

"Be right there," Hope says. He frowns at the wires. The blue one looks frayed, but that shouldn't be connected to the stabilizing systems at all....

"Better hurry," Snow says. "Serah made pot pie, and you know how fast that goes when Maqui and Yuj are around."

"Yeah." Hope leans into the engine a little further, angling his light to give him a better view. The stabilizers are deeper in the depths of the engine, and—yeah, it does look like one of the cores has gotten knocked loose somehow.

Snow sighs like a neglected puppy. "You're not even listening, are you? Too wrapped up in all your wires and switches to come enjoy a good, home-cooked meal." Hope rolls his eyes at the _wires and switches_ bit, because Snow's as much of a bike junkie as anyone he's ever met—he's just biased toward the heavier stuff, instead of lightweight little skiffs like this. "Maybe," Snow goes on, "you need a little distracting."

"Mm-hmm," Hope says absently. He's being annoying on purpose now, but to be fair Snow is making it easy. He reaches down toward the misaligned core carefully.

"Like...this!" Snow says from right behind him, and digs his fingers into Hope's sides just below his ribcage.

Hope tenses up a little bit just because he's surprised, but he doesn't squirm. He's not about to give Snow the satisfaction. He chews on his lip for concentration and eases the stabilizer core back into the well.

"Aaww," Snow says. "You're not ticklish?"

"Not if I can help it," Hope says. There's a tiny, satisfying thunk as the core aligns properly. He should probably patch up the fraying wire before he takes the skiff out for a test drive, but he'd bet that fixed the wobble.

"How about here?" Snow asks, and this time he goes for Hope's armpits. Clearly he's asking for it.

Hope ducks out of the skiff's engine and turns, slipping under Snow's outstretched arms and getting _him_ in the sides. Snow squirms and flails, stumbling backward. "Hey!" he says. "No f—aah!"

Maybe it's not fighting fair, since Snow's too nice a guy to actually be _forceful_ to make him stop, but when you're small you have to be fierce. Hope dodges Snow's flailing and keeps tickling him, and Snow's protests turn into breathless laughter. His face turns red and his knees buckle; Hope follows him down to the garage floor, a little giddy with the thrill of overpowering him—Hope doesn't even come up to Snow's shoulders, and he's pretty sure that Snow is more than twice his weight, but here he is _getting the upper hand_ because Snow's ticklish and he's not. When Snow tries to roll away, Hope throws a leg over him and pins him by sitting on his thighs.

"Cut it out," Snow gasps between laughs. His face is bright pink and the corners of his eyes are wet, and Hope keeps thinking _because of me, that's because of me_.

"Are you asking for mercy?" he asks, pausing for a second.

Snow mock-glares up at him. "Heroes don't ask for mercy," he says.

"They do if they want to stop being tickled," Hope says, and renews his assault. The spots right along Snow's hipbones are super-sensitive, making him writhe and curse breathlessly—but he still doesn't really try to push Hope's hands away.

Something _shifts_ between them and suddenly Hope is really conscious of how close they are, of the warmth of Snow's thighs under his, of how close his hands are to.... "Come on, ask for mercy," he says.

It takes Snow three tries to get enough breath to say, "Mercy," clearly. Hope sits back on his heels and doesn't let himself flee, the same way he didn't let himself squirm earlier. The tension defuses, slowly, even if it's not something Hope will be able to forget. Snow pants for breath, still grinning. "Man," he says. "You're vicious, kiddo. Light's been encouraging you, huh?"

"Don't you wish," Hope says. "That was me getting the better of you all by myself."

"Heh. Teach me to underestimate you," Snow says, and maybe he's just saying that, but it feels pretty good all the same.

"Yup," Hope says. "If you're not careful, that can cost you your dinner."

He rolls off Snow and sprints for the house, grinning at Snow's yelp of protest from behind him.


End file.
